thinking a lot about how there is such significance and symbolism in so many interactions we have with other people. I think it’s important to keep that in mind during all those long years of complacent behaviour. Seriously, cherish a lot of what you have with each individual in your life.

I bruise my hands from the wringing,
I suffer so much of my own
(despotism; sighs; solitude; weight).

who for what am I when I’ll be sad?
Little weights tied to my eyes,
measure my years with such mottled hope.

when does it become?

step in threes, in time, in moonslicked wounds.
I dreamt upon a bound of a hill worth looking down,
to move me to tears, when the wind kissed my humming mood.

Instead we find thoughtful, vulgar things to bide too shrewd.
Like a hope to be inspired by more than just what gets us off.

I want to kneel at the weight of a heart made still,
for voice to crack when wit finally fails.

do you dream of home like I thought home would feel?
lips under covers from weight of will,
dance in threes, keep still, then seize.

If I had the earth to till, the song of spring would never whimper, never gasp.

Feel grip on grip, of rooted will into sedimentary care.
“I love you more than my gender would allow me to tell.”

Such, withered ties we could share.

Even when consensus reaches the urge to move, stand, be strong like I swore:
“I love you more than our years could ever mean.”

Stand and be counted, with your heart, firmly held skyward like an offer to god.
Would you be counted?
Would you stand by what lies beyond your will?

I walk up the same street I’ve been pacing since I was a child and sheepishly hope for a light through the living room blinds. There isn’t any, and I told myself not to hope there was. I open the doors (such clumsy old locks) and shew the cats back into the front hall.

There isn’t any life. And again, I told myself there wouldn’t be, so the sense of surprise and sadness is grating. It’s pathetic honestly, but I really did hope you would have been there when I opened the door. Looking at me with a smile in your eyes (has it been that long?).

There isn’t any life. And again, it stings. The living room is in the same messy and just…sad state I had left it in. I throw my belongings down without aim or direction. I reach for my phone, and type the words/plea: “I really did hope you would have been here when I opened the door.” I’m trying not to feel like I’m guilting, but the recitation in my head before the action just feels so goddamn contrived. I’m stuck in that period of gray again…Wondering if I really am that honest of a person…Or really just completely full of shit.

I’m hungry, and I’m weak. I spent 2 hours gritting my teeth and figured it was the least I could do. God my leg is swollen and aching; new ink settles in to try and make me the person I always wished I would be. I don’t want to eat. I just don’t care enough to right now.

You call me, as I had (mostly) hoped you would. You’re sad, and trying to be re-assuring. I’m far more quiet than I was trying to allow myself to be. I become so self-conscious of my breathing. I feel incredibly uncomfortable, and not in the slightest way assured.

There is a lot of murmuring, a lot reasons to be discussed. I can’t voice 4 words. My throat closes off. I let you off the hook and toss the phone away, disinterested and numb.

I wish for once you stood next to me.
I wish I didn’t let you become so small.

Every single action stings my consciousness…I wish I could just fall asleep.

and once I dreamt I found my ghost heart,
sombre, sickly, ashen and still

your dreams bent low from willow branch to sleeping stream.
sentiment worn through, broken and ground down.

cracked hands revealing the gore of wanton sight, reaching for older tomes.

do you dream in such black and white? in hazy sweet sepia tone? 

ghost heart is happier alone than would to admittance bow.

move in me something whispered, something strong,
ever slowly mine vespers song abreast, and simple to such varied degree.

with such sad songs we weave the strands to hook and hew, of life made moving, breathing, shy and awe full.

this path is steady but is narrow still.
in heaven seek the fine, seek the twisted sinew beauty skin brought bare.

but still such sad songs, stuck in my head to hum.

it’s always been odd to me that some people stick to me regardless of how well I know them. I become very enamoured with some friendships, most of which start in very random ways. people become like songs stuck in my head. in some ways, I feel like I fall in love with these friends. I often don’t know where this tune comes from, just that it’s there.